


32 Kinds of Kisses

by keograti



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cute, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-08-29 11:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8488540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keograti/pseuds/keograti
Summary: A collection of short-tales depicting the 32 kinds of kisses Dean and Castiel share.





	1. Introduction

Based off a Tumblr prompt.

A great deal of these will be related to the universe and characters I've created in my work Continuity, but you won't have to have read it to understand what's happening!


	2. Hand Kisses

They’ve been driving all night, and Castiel is hyper aware that Dean has been awake for more than twenty four hours. It’s the first hunt they’ve been on since Castiel was resurrected and Jack brought into their lives, the first time either of them has left their son in the care of another. Even knowing it’s Sam watching over their boy is of little comfort; leaving him behind feels wrong, as if the six month old infant might somehow spite them for leaving him for a single moment. 

Castiel rests his head against the window, watching the dark silhouettes of trees and sleeping-fields whizz past outside. It’s such a familiar sight to him, a haven amongst the newness of humanity; this speed, this barely-graspable imagery of the world was familiar to him in a way that most things were not. He touches the windowpane lightly; brushing his fingers over the cool glass, wishing he could feel the Earth pass him—the wind on his skin, between his feathers. He wishes for a fleeting moment – and God forgive him, for this wish plagues him with its selfishness – that he had never left Heaven, never gone after Dean, never lost the magnificence of his grace.

“Cas?” 

His wish flutters away like a bird, lost to the wind. He turns away from the window, meeting his partner’s gaze. With Dean’s eyes on him, as every time Dean’s eyes are upon him, he realizes that nothing he experienced in Heaven compares to what he has experienced in this world.

“What were you thinking about?” 

Castiel is momentarily surprised at the question, for it is so unlike his lover to ask these kinds of things, but he answers. “Before,”

“Before what?”

“Before I met you,”

Dean is quiet a moment, his mouth curling downward into a frown, and Castiel is surprised to feel the car lean right and slow to a stop on the empty shoulder of the road. Dean puts her in park, and pulls the keys from the ignition. Silence drowns the cab, and ex-angel and human turn to face each other.

“Do you regret it?” 

The question shocks him, and Castiel blinks twice, unable to comprehend the question he’s just been asked. 

“I… I’m not sure what you mean,”

“Saving me, raising me from perdition or however the hell you put it,” Dean sighs. “Do you ever regret it?”

Castiel considers his answer carefully.

“There are times when I wish things were different. I… Was wishing as much just now,” He admits, reaching between them to brush a stray lock of hair from Dean’s forehead, tucking it carefully amongst the rest where they spiked upwards and away from his forehead. “But then I hear your voice, or see your face… You always know when I’m wishing for selfish things, and… You call me back to reality. You make me realize why wishing is pointless,”

Dean blinks at him slow and tired like an early morning owl ready to retire to rest for the day, and Castiel remembers once more that they’ve not had a chance to rest in nearly a day. He moves closer in the seat, his hand landing gently on Dean’s shoulder, just slightly askew of where a scar once laid in the same shape. Dean closes his eyes, expression weary.

“Even after… Everything, you don’t wish you had left me in Hell?”

“Never,”

“You lost your wings, Cas, your home… Everything,”

“But I gained you,” Castiel shushes, gripping Dean’s arm gently. “And that is all I will ever need.”

Dean opens his eyes once more, and they’re wet with emotion. He raises a hand and for a moment Castiel thinks Dean is going to pull him closer for a kiss—but he doesn’t. Instead, he lays his hand over Castiel’s, moving it to settle exactly where the scar once laid before Castiel had removed it when healing Dean once, long ago. His eyes say the words he cannot and he turns his head quickly, hiding his expression. Castiel feels Dean’s nose brush against his knuckle, feels his breath against his hand before Dean’s lips brush softly against his skin.

There’s something alarmingly intimate about it—that Dean would move his hand to such a place of ownership, and kiss it with such soft and broken reverence. Castiel smiles softly in the dim light and shakes his head, knowing this version of Dean all too well by now. 

He releases his hold on Dean’s arm, using his now freed hand to draw the hunter in close. Once Dean is sheltered in the cage of his arms, head resting against Castiel’s shoulder, the ex-angel sighs softly and draws one of Dean’s hands to his lips, kissing each fingertip gently before lowering the hand to his chest, above his heart, and holding it there.

“You are all I will ever need, Dean Winchester,” He whispers, closing his eyes, but he knows by the soft rhythm of breath against his collarbone that the hunter is already fast asleep.


	3. 'I Want You' Kisses

It’s Valentine’s Day.

Dean once thought of it as an unattached drifters Christmas, but after Hell he grew out of that immature version of himself. After Hell, everything was… Dull, boring. Christmas was just an opportunity to buy gifts for Sammy, New Years a socially-acceptable excuse to get shit-face drunk, and Valentine’s Day just an opportunity to buy discount chocolates. Not the crap kind, either—the really good stuff that came in the fancy boxes. Dean was a sucker for that kind of shit.

Life went on like that for a few years, just… Dull, boring. He had no purpose besides hunting, no enjoyment for life unless it was in regards to Sam; the only moments he really lived for were the moments he got to see a smile on his baby brother’s face and know that he put it there.

Then, he started to… Notice, Castiel.

That’s not to say he hadn’t noticed the angel before. Of course, Castiel was his best friend; he’d gladly give an arm or a leg for the angel-- had come damn near to doing so a few times in fact. But no, Castiel had always been carefully tucked away in the friendly part of Dean’s brain, until one day he just… Wasn’t, anymore.

If he had to pick a moment that it happened, he’d trace it back to a damn feisty poltergeist in Indiana. He’d been so stupid, so focused on watching out for Sam that he’d forgotten to take care of himself—before he could comprehend what had happened, he’d been thrown into a wall so hard that he was able to hear his spine crack clean in half.

God, he had been so frightened—and Castiel was, too, he knew it. Could hear it in the angel’s voice, see it in the way he slid to his knees and grabbed a hold of Dean like he might never let go. Dean didn’t want him to, he recalled; he had grabbed Castiel’s hand, felt the angel’s narrow fingers trembling in his grip, and realized how damn near close they had come to losing each other again.  
But, afraid of what Sam might think if he saw Dean’s fear, he had released his hold and walked it off.

Things with Castiel were never the same after that, though.

For that, he was grateful.

Now that he had Castiel in his life, and subsequently Jack, he couldn’t remember what that empty feeling he once lived with felt like anymore. He had so much joy in his life, so much love that… Sometimes it was overwhelming, in the best kind of way.

Today, though, was Valentine’s Day.

Jack was down for a nap and Castiel was on the back porch painting one of his many masterpieces, humming quietly to himself as he tended to do when he was working. He had no idea Dean was home from work, no clue what the hunter was up to—and that was exactly how Dean wanted to keep it for now. 

He moved like he was on a hunt, not making a single sound as he hurried up the stairs and into the master bedroom to change out of his filthy work clothes. He opted for one of his old Metallica shirts and a pair of jeans, combing his fingers through his hair before standing on his toes to reach the back of the highest shelf in the closet, retrieving the box of chocolates and the single rose he had stashed there around 3a.m. this morning after he ran to the store while Castiel slept.

He inhaled, holding the rose stem tightly, and exhaled.

He could do this, he thought. Castiel was his boyfriend, partner, whatever they had decided to call it; it wasn’t abnormal for couples to do these kinds of things, right?

Turning, he took one step out of the closet and froze.

“I may not be an angel anymore but I always know when you’re around, Dean,” Castiel is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. There’s paint on his clothes and a splash of red on his chin, but he looks amused as he arches a brow. “What are you doing home from work so early?”

“I was going to surprise you,” Dean replies, aware of the volume of his own voice and the fact that Jack is napping across the hall. “But, uh… Guess that’s out the window now.”

“Surprise me?” Castiel blinks, cocking his head in that adorable way that he does when he simply cannot comprehend what’s being said to him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Dean holds out his gifts, and Castiel looks briefly taken aback. He huffs out a quiet breath before stepping into the room, a smile curling his lips as he takes the items, one in each hand. His paint-stained fingers make for an almost photo-worthy sight where they caress the rose petals and he laughs quietly to himself.

“You left work early to surprise me with gifts?” He says.

“I’m… Sorry?” Dean frowns, heart hammering into his throat. He hates it, doesn’t he? He has to hate it—he isn’t saying anything, oh shit he thinks it’s stupid, he—

Castiel sets the gifts on the bed and in the same motion crowds Dean’s personal space, paint-stained fingers now sliding along Dean’s back beneath his shirt. Dean gets dizzy, as he always does when Castiel touches him like this, and he grips either side of the angels face for support, pressing his forehead to the shorter mans and closing his eyes.

“Thank you,” Castiel breathes into the sliver of space between them. They’re swaying gently, every point of contact between them buzzing like electricity in Dean’s body. He inhales sharply, trying to stabilize himself as Castiel’s fingers brush the dip in his back.

“Don’t mention it,” He says quietly, opening his eyes. Castiel is watching him the same way he always does; blue eyes sharp, unblinking, unabashed to be caught staring. God, he loves Castiel’s eyes.  
Castiel stares a moment longer, but soon his grin turns feral and Dean knows all too well what that means. His heart jumps and he barely has a chance to tighten his grip on the ex-angels face before Castiel is closing the gap between them, his lips slotting into place where they belong; against Dean’s.

When Castiel kisses him, Dean doesn’t remember his own name. The man kisses with a fervor and passion which Dean has never been familiar with, as if every kiss was his last one; he knows all the right things to do with his teeth and tongue, and Dean often wonders how the hell someone so inexperienced could be so good at this. 

He wonders what else Castiel might be good at, walking them backwards until the back of his knees hit the mattress and he allows himself to fall, dragging Castiel down with him without breaking their kiss.

Neither of them are very good at saying how they feel; they’re actions always seem to speak for them. And right now, they were screaming only one thing; _I want you._

They don’t usually get this heated, Dean thinks; they don’t ever have enough time for each other, with a newborn. However, with Jack asleep, they have time—and they’re sure as Hell taking advantage of it, Castiel’s fingers pushing through Dean’s hair before finding a grip and tugging—and _damn_ does Dean like that. His own hands trail experimentally towards the back pockets of Castiel’s jeans, and when there are no complaints on Castiel’s part he helps himself to a sturdy grip on his partner’s ass.

Castiel inhales against his mouth sharply and Dean can’t help but to chuckle, leaning back to get a good look at the ex-angels flustered expression. Castiel grins down at him, propping himself up on his elbows and opening his mouth to speak. Dean feels his heart skip a beat, feels the excitement bubbling in his chest. This was it. Castiel was finally going to say the words, after months of waiting he was _finally_ going to get laid—

There was a thud downstairs, the front door slamming closed.

They both froze, holding their breaths.

“Hello?” Sam’s voice called up the stairs.

“God dammit,” Dean groaned just as a cry sounded from across the hall. Sam had woken Jack up, and successfully ruined any chances Dean and Castiel had.

Castiel sighed, still a moment before he stood, leaving Dean cold and oddly splayed across the bed. He moved to the doorway, but paused before leaving.

“I…” He frowned, and Dean knew he wasn’t sure what to say.

“Later, babe,” He promised, sitting up with a smile. “We’ve got all the time in the world.” 

Castiel smiled, a slight flush in his cheeks still. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Dean,” He says before hurrying across the hall to attend to their son.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” He smiles after his lover, shaking his head as he stands and smooths the crinkles in his shirt. He’s working on taming his hair when Sam appears in the doorway, opening his mouth to speak before halting, looking Dean over and smirking.

“Did I, uh… Interrupt?”

“Sometimes, Sam, I really wish I was an only child.”


	4. 'Good Morning' Kisses

Castiel loves mornings. 

He always wakes up before Dean, without fail, and those few moments before Dean inevitably joins him in the waking world are his favorite part of the day. 

Somehow it always happens that the sheets are tangled between Castiel’s feet, the blanket cocooned around his body as well. Dean’s feet are shoved in the base of his cocoon but the rest of his body is untouched by the blankets, one of his arms shoved under a pillow and the other serving as a rest for Castiel’s head. He scowls in his sleep – and sometimes drools if he’s really exhausted - and Castiel finds it incredibly endearing.

He shifts quietly against the mattress, as he always does, turning to face his sleeping charge. Dean inhales and exhales in a slow and steady rhythm, blissfully unaware of life outside of his sleep. Castiel watches the early morning sunlight turn his hair into gold, highlight his freckles; he examines the shadow his eyelashes cast across his cheeks. 

Here, Dean is untouched by the horrors he’s had to face.

Here, Castiel can protect him.

Dean’s nose crinkles and Castiel smiles softly, watching as Dean pulls his arm from beneath the pillow, scrubbing a hand over his face. It’ll be a second or two until he opens his eyes, but Castiel doesn’t mind waiting. 

When Dean opens his eyes, they’re sharp and alert, and they settle easily on Castiel as they always do.

He half smiles, half scowls.

“’S creepy, Cas,” He scolds, and Castiel smiles.

So predictable.

“Good morning to you, too,” He says, and Dean chuckles, shaking his head and sliding an arm around Castiel’s cocoon, pulling him in closer.

His lips press softly to Castiel’s, chapped and warm, and the angel smiles, retreating only to bury his face in the space between Dean’s neck and shoulder. The hunter sighs softly with content, and Castiel knows without looking that he’s closed his eyes again.

“Few more minutes,” Dean yawns, and Castiel feels himself being tugged back to sleep as well.

After all—the morning doesn’t really begin until eight, when they have to get out of bed to attend to Jack. 

Castiel doesn’t really love mornings; he loves the pre-morning mornings-- the ones he shares with Dean, when they wake around six simply to say hello before dozing off for a few more hours.


	5. Eskimo Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this for a Supernatural Christmas card exchange, but I liked it enough to share it.

It’s quiet.

There’s a soft breeze coming in through the open window, the bitter smell of winter drifting in with it. The sun is hidden behind soft gray clouds, the occasional stray ray peeking through and reflecting brightly against fresh mounds of snow. The room is cold-- perhaps the heater gave out in the night, but it’s no bother.

The only sounds to disturb the silence - though hardly loud on their own - are the sounds of breath. One, slow and sedate; the other, quiet evenly paced breath of the sleeping. The sheets hiss softly with the movement of a restless body, but the sound is quick and fades when the body beneath finds comfort.

It’s quiet.

Castiel can’t sleep. He lays on his side, facing the cracked window, his knees drawn in close to his body and a pillow jammed haphazardly between his neck and shoulder. The snow beyond the window reflects in tired blue eyes, but they don’t move; they simply stare, watching, waiting-- but for what?

It’s _quiet._

Warm arms suddenly snake their way around his narrow waist from behind, and Castiel smiles weakly in the direction of the open window as at the gentle press of lips against his temple. 

“You’re brooding,” Dean’s sleep-thick voice says from somewhere behind him, and Castiel narrowly avoids rolling his eyes at the comment.

“I am not,” It comes across more petulant than he intends.

“You’re a terrible liar, ya know?” Dean presses one warm hand against his stomach, warm even through the thick cotton of his t-shirt as he draws the angel close, his chest pressed firmly to Castiel’s back. “Come on, spit it out. ‘S too early for me to pry it out of you,”

Castiel finally looks away from the window, turning to peer at Dean over his shoulder. Green eyes stare back at him, still partially glazed with sleep. His hair is plastered awkwardly to one side of his head, the rest horribly mussed and sticking out. He’s quite a sight in the mornings, Castiel thinks, but the way the light from the window highlights his freckles and the tiniest of dimples appears in the corner of his mouth when he smiles at Cas make up for the mess. 

“It’s quiet,” He says, and Dean arches an eyebrow, pulling one hand out from beneath the blankets and combing his fingers gently through Castiel’s hair. The angel all but purrs, tired eyes falling closed. “I just… Wish it would stay this quiet, Dean.”

Dean’s fingers still in his hair, and Castiel opens his eyes to see Dean watching him with a sad expression.

“Cas…”

“I know, I know,” Castiel sighs, rolling over so that he’s facing his partner. “I should be more positive, but things are never this quiet, never this good--”

“Cas,” Dean shakes his head, interrupting. “Do you know what today is?”

“It’s Sunday, but I don’t see why that--”

“It’s Christmas, Cas.” Dean rolls his eyes.

“Oh,” Castiel blinks. “Well… What does that have to do with the situation?”

“Well,” Dean props himself up on one elbow. “People usually give out gifts on Christmas.”

“I am aware,” Castiel nods.

“Well I didn’t get you anything, but… I can still give you something,” He offers and Castiel arches a brow, unsure if this is a sexual innuendo he is unfamiliar with-- the look on Dean’s face doesn’t seem to lean towards the idea, but Castiel never knows with his hunter. 

“I can make you a promise,” Dean goes on. “I don’t know what’ll happen tomorrow… None of us ever do. I don’t know if the next apocalypse is going to start, or you’re going to lose your grace again, or - Chuck forbid - one of might kick the bucket… But I can promise you today, Cas. I can promise you one day, just the two of us. I can promise that we'll be together, and we will be safe, and nothing, not even the damn end of the world, will mess up today.”

Castiel swallows, watching unblinking as Dean delivers his whispered gift, unsure what he possible did to deserve this man. Dean drops down to his level once more, leaning close to Castiel, their noses brushing in the lightest of eskimo kisses as they wind their arms around one and other. Castiel’s eyes close and he thinks maybe, just maybe, he might be able to get some sleep as Dean presses a soft kiss to his jaw. 

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” He whispers, and Castiel burrows deeper into his warmth.

Soon, the only sounds in the room are two sets of sleeping breath… It’s quiet, but it’s no bother.


	6. 'Goodbye' Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Continuity piece. If you are planning on reading or haven't finished it yet, SPOILERS LIE AHEAD.

He’s still sore. 

The bruises have yellowed by now, barely even sore to the touch. His broken wrist remains in plain-colored bandages, and will for a few more weeks. The concussion won’t allow him a full night of sleep and he’s a bit sensitive to bright lights, but its effects will only linger for so long he thinks. 

Getting dressed is a challenge every day, but today it’s worse. He manages to pull on a pair of slacks alright. Hell, even the belt seems easy, but it takes him nearly ten minutes to button his shirt and once that’s done he has to take a break.

There’s a blue tie laying on the bed.

He swallows, hangs his head.

“I can’t do this,” He says to his shoes.

“Papa?” The voice is at the door and Dean swivels his head towards the sound. Jack is standing in the doorway. For a moment he looks incredibly small where he’s framed in the light of the hallway, and it makes Dean want to snatch him up and keep him close like he used to when he was a baby.

“Hey buddy,” He tries to smile but it’s only half formed.

“Need help?” 

“Yeah, uh…” He clears his throat, shifting a bit on his feet. “Could you grab Sammy or Gabe? I need some help with my tie,”

Jack frowns at him, canting his head to the side fractionally. He looks so damn like Cas when he does that-- it nearly knocks the breath out of Dean. Jack studies him for a quiet second before moving into the room. He’s hovering right around 5’5” right now so there’s still a decent height distance between Dean and his son. Dean thinks for a moment that Jack’s going to hug him, but he doesn’t-- he climbs onto the bed, grabbing the tie and then standing on the mattress.

“I know how to do it,” Jack says, slinging the tie over Dean’s head. He steps closer to the edge of the mattress, making it easier for his son.

“How do you--”

“Dad.” Jack says, his eyes on his work. He’s always had Cas’s focused gaze, his steady hands. Jack says the word in no more than a whisper and Dean understands. This whole thing is still new, sharp. The ache will never go away, only dull.

“What’s the last thing he said to you?” Jack asks suddenly and Dean blinks twice, a bit taken aback.

“I, uh… I…” Dean struggles to keep his voice from cracking as he thinks back to that last fleeting second, the way Cas had stared up at him so adoringly. “I think it was… ‘Hello, Dean.’”

He knows he’s lying. He knows that’s not the last thing Cas said. When the dust settled, the cab of the Impala was a mess. Dean had somehow escaped with minor injuries. But Cas… Cas was thrown through the windshield. Dean can still remember the panic, seeing him laying there, that stupid button up shirt he insisted on wearing out on their dates stained with blood. Dean can still remember stumbling over, drawing Cas’s head into his lap. 

He remembers saying hey, trying to pretend that everything was okay as he pet through the angel’s hair. He didn’t understand how the accident could have done so much damage with Cas’s grace returned, why this was happening… 

Castiel smiled at him-- that stupid fucking smile that Dean woke up to every single morning. He’d pulled him in - a dying man - and kissed him with lips that were much too cold and whispered against his mouth. Dean doesn’t want to upset his son, but he can feel the tears sliding down his cheeks at the memory. Jack has finished his tie and is simply watching him, hands on Dean’s shoulders.

“‘Goodbye, Dean…’” He admits, his voice hitching. “The last thing he said w… was ‘Goodbye, Dean.’”

“I know,” Jack says, and he’s unnervingly calm.

“Then why’d you ask, kid?” Dean chokes out a humorless laugh. He knows Jack has no idea he’s God-- Joshua assured them of much. But Jack knows things, always has.

“Because you need to say it out loud… Because accepting what happened is the only way you’ll ever be able to move on.”

“Who made you so wise?” Dean asks, shaking his head as he brushes his son’s hair out of his eyes and smiles gently. It’s the first time he’s smiled in days.

“Dad,” Jack says, and this time it’s his voice that breaks. Dean sighs, shaking his head as he steps forward and draws his son into his arms. Jack doesn’t fight it, instead burying his face in his dad’s shoulder best he can from his awkward position standing atop the mattress.  
They stay there, two broken hearts, for a long time-- but when they finally break apart, Dean thinks… Maybe he can do this.

Castiel’s funeral is beautiful.


	7. 'Hello' Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sort of extended ending to my story Continuity. Hope it gives everyone some closure!

Gabriel is the first one to go.

The ex-archangel passes away in his sleep at age fifty-three, despite being in great health. Sam is devastated and takes nearly a year to recover from the blow, but they all knew that a body that once held one of the mightiest angels in Heaven wouldn't last very long. After Gabriel passes, their social circle seems to continually dwindle. Hunter's they know and love slowly pass away - of natural and supernatural causes - and every now and again they get news of people they saved passing away. It’s sad, but, among the sadness… there's good things, too.

Jack graduates valedictorian of his high school class. Much to his uncle Sam’s delight, he decides to attend Stanford in pursuit of a doctorate in religious studies. Dean cringes when he gets the news, but it doesn't sting nearly as bad as it did all those years ago with Sam; he knows Jack will always come back, and he wants a bright future for his son so he smiles and tells him that Cas would have been proud. Dean flies - yes, flies - out to California to spend holidays with his son every year that he’s in school, but no matter how much Jack begs him to move out of the bunker, he refuses. He won't leave his home-- he won't leave Cas, where his ashes are scattered in a field of sunflowers behind the bunker.

Dean dates on and off through the years, but no one really sticks. He prides himself in his attempts, and he knows it makes Jack feel better to think that he’s not lonely, but deep down he also knows no one will ever replace his angel.

Dean and Sam meet Jack's girlfriend for the first time when he graduates from Stanford, valedictorian again. Ana is a beautiful, intelligent woman who immigrated from Spain to attend Stanford full time. Her English is a bit flawed, but her eyes are almost as blue as Cas’s were, and she smiles at Jack like he's her sole purpose for existing, and Dean thinks he likes her. Good thing, too-- Jack marries her three years later, and four years after that Dean is a grandpa.

Dean can't hardly believe it when his granddaughter is born-- she has her mother's dark complexion and blue eyes, but her father's delicate fingers and intense stare. Jack wants to name her Castiel, but Dean forbids it - the idea is touching, but the kid at least deserves a chance at a bully-free existence - and Ana sides with him. After much debate, they settle on Cassandra.

Dean calls her Cas.

Sam dies exactly three weeks after Cassandra is born. Dean doesn't know what to do, nearly goes crazy in the wake of the loss. Sam was younger than him, after all, wasn't he supposed to last longer? If it wasn't for Jack, Ana, and Cassandra, Dean thinks he may have just laid down beside his brother and given up. 

Thanks to his family, Dean lasts another twenty three years. He doesn't go out in a blaze of glory like he might have thought in the past; he lays down to sleep after giving Jack a call and never wakes up.

When he gets to Heaven, he’s surprised to find that it's not at all what he expected. While he was waiting to see the interior of the bunker, he’s instead in… a farmhouse.

The farmhouse. 

He’s home, back where it all started-- where he fell in love with Cas, where they brought Jack home. It’s almost perfect, he thinks, but his heart aches. He knows he’ll never see Cas again-- he figured it out, the deal his angel must have made for their last ten years together. That means he’s lost to Hell forever.

“Hey, Papa,” Dean nearly crawls out of his skin at the voice, turning to find Jack standing by the stairs. He's surprised to see his adult son standing there; shouldn't this Heaven feature Jack as an infant?

“Jack, how are you..” He tries.

“I'm God,” Jack shrugs. “The, uh.. the rules don't exactly apply to me.”

“You-you know?” Dean stutters.

“I have since I was…. Uh. Hmm. Maybe sixteen? Figured it out not long after Dad died,” Jack admits, smiling. “I just never said anything, cause, well… I like being Jack better, I guess.”

“You bastard,” Dean chuckles, shaking his head as he looks down at his feet. He is acutely aware of the fact that his body has been deaged, back to his prime physical form. He don't ache or feel fragile the way he did in his later years.

“Papa, look, I, uh… I know there's rules in the universe, but rules were meant to break, y’know? I can't.. I can't visit often, not without making Ana or Cassie suspicious…”

“Ah, it's okay kid. Don't worry about your old man,” Dean waves him off. “I'll be fine on my own.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I didn't say anything about leaving you on your own,” Jack shakes his head. “I was just saying I can't visit often, but I… I wanted to be here for this.”

“For wha…” the words die on Dean's tongue as a figure moves out from behind Jack and Dean thinks he may have forgotten how to breathe.

It’s been so long since Dean saw his face, he thinks he may have forgotten some things. The eyes, no, he always remembered those-- his chin, the sharp slope of his nose, the wrinkles around his eyes that Dean knew were more from squinting-stares as much as he’d like to say they were caused by laughter. He’s wearing that stupid date night shirt and a pair of khakis and he’s smiling but it's so small that Dean almost misses it.

“Ca… Castiel?” Dean chokes. His vision is blurring around the edges. Is it possible to faint in Heaven, he thinks, before he realizes that it's tears that are altering his sight.

“Hello, Dean,” the angel says and his voice is so familiar even after all these years that it shakes Dean from his stupor and all it takes to reach the stupid winged bastard is two long strides and then Dean has him by his shirt and he's hauling him in and kissing him so hard he thinks it may bruise and God it feels so good, so right, and Dean thinks he’s _home._

It isn't until Jack clears his throat that Dean draws away from Castiel, but he doesn't let the angel go. Castiel holds him just as tightly, fitting his head into the space between Dean’s neck and shoulder. Dean can smell him from this close, the same stupid fruity shampoo he insisted on using and something so subtly Cas that Dean can't name it.

“Has he been on the rack all this time?” Dean hisses to his son.

“Oh, no. He was more of a… paper pusher for Crowley. Surprisingly, I think the king of Hell may have a soft spot for him. He gave him up without a fight when I came for him,” Jack explains, and Castiel leans away from Dean's shoulder.

“You did so well raising him, Dean,” Castiel compliments.

“You should have been there to help me, feather brain,” Dean glares. “But trust me… we have all the time in the world to discuss that stupid fucking deal-- and the whole lying to me for ten years thing.”

“Okay,” Castiel knows he's in trouble, but he smiles anyways.

“As much as I want to stay, guys, I have to get back, but, uh… one more thing?” Jack arches a brow.

“I don't see how you could top this, bud,” Dean chuckles, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s temple. The angel hums a quiet sound of approval, and Jack huffs a short laugh.

“I think he can do close,” a new voice joins to mix and Dean turns so fast he’s almost sure he’s got whiplash. Sam is standing in the doorway, Gabriel grinning at his side, neither looking a day over twenty five, and Dean is almost too overwhelmed to speak.

“Sammy,” it's all he can choke out as he rushes his brother, trapping him in a tight hug. Sam grips him back just as tight, laughing the whole while. Dean is vaguely aware of Gabriel and Cas reuniting but Sam steals his attention, asking, “How's my great niece?”

“You should have stuck around,” Dean laughs through his tears. “She's beautiful. Got a great girlfriend, promising career,” Sam smiles at him and they break apart, returning to their respective angels. Dean holds Castiel tightly to his side and the angel doesn't complain. 

Dean takes a deep breath, turning to thank his son-- but Jack is gone, nothing but an empty hallway staring back at him. Dean smiles despite himself, looking up towards the ceiling as he rubs Cas’s arm gently. 

“Thanks, kid,” He whispers-- and, from a distance, he’s heard.


	8. Public Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cannon Universe

Castiel loved Dean Winchester. It was a fact he had known for nearly a year now, since the very first time Dean crowded him against the bathroom counter in a dingy motel and kissed him as if it may be the last time he got the chance. There had been plenty of other kisses since then, of course, and much more beyond that, too. He had lost count of the times he and Dean had fumbled their way out of their clothing like inexperienced teenagers, or the times they had barely made it to the bed in time. It made him smile to think of those moments, how Dean would watch him with an almost predatory gaze until he had what he wanted and his expression would change to something soft, exposed. It was a Dean only Castiel got to see, a Dean which he would gladly rebel against Heaven for time and time again.

It was a Dean he only saw behind closed doors.

He shouldn’t be bothered by Dean’s desire to keep their relationship hidden, he knew. However, Castiel could count on one hand the number of times Dean had kissed him in front of other human beings-- and every time, they were in a bar full of strangers, a busy park, or the sidewalk in a busy city. It was always somewhere that Castiel knew Dean was confident no one would know their names, or remember their faces. It was always somewhere that didn’t matter.

Castiel asked him, once, if he had misunderstood their relationship. Were they not monogamous, were they not romantic? Was their relationship solely sexual? Why wouldn’t Dean kiss him, or touch him at all, when their friends and family were around? The hunter had looked at him with an expression Castiel had never before seen on that handsome face before storming out of his own motel room, leaving Castiel staring at the ugly floral wallpaper and wondering what he’d done wrong.

That was two weeks ago, and he hadn’t spoken to Dean since. Of course, he had kept tabs on the hunter. Speaking or not, Castiel would always care for Dean. He was, after all, the angel’s charge. The Winchester brothers had recently wrapped up a hunt, and were headed to the wedding of a childhood friend in Ohio-- he was a hunter, of course, apparently marrying another hunter who was very well known in Europe. Castiel tracked the brother’s all the way to the venue, invisible to their eyes as he hovered nearby. He couldn’t hear them, but he watched as Dean said something to Sam and the younger Winchester nodded and headed off towards the open church doors.

It was a beautiful location for a wedding, Castiel thought. A chapel on the edge of a lake at the very beginning of spring, large trees blossoming with white flowers around the chapel. Dean stayed outside, and Castiel was almost sure he was missing the vows with how long he leaned against the hood of the Impala, staring out at the lake, but he dismissed his concern after a while and let his attentions drift. Castiel was busily inspecting the scenery when he heard the prayer float to him,

_I, uh… I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here, like… Now, please?_

He smiled a bit at the sound of Dean’s voice in his mind, striding closer and making himself visible to the hunter once he was within talking distance. Dean jumped a bit, making a face.

“Uh… Hey,” The hunter said, and Castiel stopped a few careful feet from his charge.

“Hello, Dean,” He greeted. Dean was dressed in one of his FBI suits and Castiel noted how handsome it looked on him, as opposed to his usually loose fitting plaid flannels. 

He was a bit surprised when Dean stepped into his personal space, pulling at his trench coat. It took Castiel a moment to realize that he wanted it off, and he obliged, curious as Dean folded it carefully and threw it through the open car window. He then straightened Castiel’s tie, tightening it a bit and fussing over the angel’s hair. 

“Dean, what-” Castiel tried to say, but Dean simply shook his head and motioned Castiel to follow him. The angel frowned, realizing that they must still be fighting as he followed Dean towards the lake edge. He can hear voices now, and he realizes the ceremony must be over as they approached a series of tables, an open bar, and what looked like a stage on the lake shore behind the church. There was a band playing softly on the stage and Castiel recognized several hunters as Dean led them through the crowd, and onto a dance floor. 

When he finally turned around to face Castiel, the angel was more confused than he thinks he may have ever been at any point in his existence. 

“Dance with me,” Dean says gruffly, holding out a stiff hand. Castiel looks around, noting the relatively empty dance floor. The bride and groom are dancing, but there’s only two other couples near them, and Castiel hesitates before taking Dean’s hand and allowing himself to be dragged towards the center. 

Dean faces him, and Castiel rests his hands on Dean’s shoulders. The hunter takes an easy hold of his waist and Castiel looks around, finding that a few familiar faces are watching them with distant curiosity, Sam’s among them. It doesn’t matter, though, when Dean’s voice catches his attention and he turns to face his hunter once more.

“I’m sorry I… Ran out on you in Arkansas,” He says and Castiel smiles a little, shrugging.

“It was not totally unexpected,” Castiel admits. “I had expected you to at least say something, though.”

Dean blushes, nods, and draws Castiel a bit closer. The angel can feel the eyes of their peers on them now, isn’t sure if he is imagining the slight hush in the crowd or not. Dean is so close, now, and Castiel is almost intoxicated by his proximity as the hunter suddenly leans in and kisses him. It’s not a soft peck, or a quick one; Dean kisses him like he did the first time, like he might never do it again, and his hands tighten where they're gripping Castiel’s waist. When the hunter finally pulls away, Castiel holds to his neck for balance, breathless, and manages to say “Dean…”

“You're important to me, Cas.” Dean interrupts, swaying them a bit on the floor. “And I got mad a few weeks ago because… You were right. I’ve been treating you like a cheap lay, and you’re not… You're the most important person in my life besides Sam, and… I'm not gonna hide that anymore, not from anyone.”

Castiel smiles, feeling his vessels cheeks heat. As far as Dean Winchester goes, this was a sweeping declaration of love-- one that Castiel would never forget.


	9. Neck Kisses

They’ve been working the same hunt for almost two months. The time commitment is driving Dean almost to insanity, but not for the reason’s Sam keeps teasing him about. Yeah, he hates staying in one place too long - that much is true, and he’ll blame it on his father until the day he dies - but everything else Sam says about being bored with the hunt, or being bored by their cover story, isn’t true. 

His name is Dean Smith, and he’s sharing his two-story townhouse on the edge of town with his old college buddy, Castello Summers-- Cas, for short. He works at the local preschool, believe it or not, as a teacher, while Cas spends his days as front desk staff at the sheriff's office. Sam visits on the weekends sometimes, but more often than not he’s off taking care of smaller hunts across the country, leaving Dean and Cas to their imaginary lives.

Dean has just gotten off the phone with Sam when he walks through the door of the townhouse, hanging his keys on the rack Cas had hung on the wall next to the door because Dean always lost his keys. He can still hear Sam’s voice, accusing him of being ‘bored of the apple pie crap’ as he moves into the kitchen, setting his bag in one of the chairs around the kitchen table and slipping out of his coat.

He’s not tired of the ‘apple pie crap,’ he thinks as he opens the fridge, leaning inside and grabbing the bag of steaks he’d left that morning to marinate. He sets them on the counter and searches the cabinet for an appropriate pan, humming to himself. When he finds the cast iron piece he’s looking for, he sets it on the electric stove and cranks up the burner, waiting for the pan to get good and hot as he moves to the fridge and pulls out a cold beer.

He’s not tired of this life. In fact, he looks forward to coming home after a long day and having a cold beer. More often than not, he cooks dinner. Sometimes, they order out. He knows where everything is in this house, has finally mastered the art of finding just the right temperature using the old shower knobs. He has his own bottle of shampoo instead of bouncing between tiny motel bottles and hoping that he likes the scent. He has his own bed - memory foam, too - and every morning he wakes up to the sounds of bird song and lawn-mowers, instead of the busy sounds of a highway or the buzz of neon lights.

He sets his beer on the counter, grabbing a pair of tongs and pulling the marinated steaks carefully out of the bag and setting them in the pan, listening to them sizzle.

He likes this life, he thinks, almost too much. He’s gotten comfortable with it, likes the way the floorboards creak underfoot in his shitty little townhouse, likes the forest-green paint that Cas had picked out for the entry way. He likes the soft, billowy curtains Cas had insisted on; likes their mismatched furniture, likes how it fits together in an odd sort of way. 

He finishes making dinner after awhile, fixes a plate that’s one third steak, and two thirds green beans, because Cas - the monster he is - hates mashed potatoes, and insists on loading up on his greens. He carefully wraps the plate in cling-wrap and slides it in the fridge before fixing his own plate, sitting alone at the kitchen table and inhaling it. He washes it down with a second beer, cleans up the kitchen, and leaves a post-it on the fridge to let Cas know he’s got a plate in the fridge when he comes in.

Dean showers, relishing in his mint-scented shampoo and spicy body wash, and dresses in nothing more than a pair of boxers as he climbs into bed. It’s king sized, with soft blankets and egyptian cotton sheets. It feels wide, empty.

Dean closes his eyes, listens.

He doesn’t relax, doesn’t even consider sleep, until he hears the sound of the door opening downstairs and Cas mumbling to himself as he catches his bag - as he always does - on the door handle. Dean chuckles to himself, rolling onto his side and finally submitting to his exhaustion as he listens to the quiet sounds of Castiel moving through the house.

He’s very nearly asleep, still thinking over Sam’s accusations, when he hears the bedroom door open. He yawns, rolling over and squinting at the hall light just as Castiel steps into the room, closing the door silently behind himself. He’s wearing a pair of black boxers and a long sleeve cotton shirt that has seen better days; there’s a hole in the side, but it’s worn and comfortable and Dean knows that’s why Cas likes it.

Cas whispers a soft hello as he slips under the sheets, and Dean grunts his reply as he lifts his arm and easily adjusts to Cas’s form where the angel lays with his back to the human, head cushioned on Dean’s arm.

He’s not tired of this life. Could never be tired of this.

“D’you eat dinner?” He mumbles, nosing the line of Castiel’s neck. His skin is damp still from the shower Dean doesn’t really remember hearing him take, and Dean inhales the scent of that stupid watermelon-scented kids body wash that the angel loves.

“Ate at the office,” Castiel hums. “But I saw your note. Thank you,”

“Mhmm,” Dean nods, pressing a soft kiss just behind the angel’s ear that earns him a shiver.

“Dean,” Cas sighs and Dean doesn’t answer as he carefully drags his lips over Castiel’s pulse, sucking carefully at the point where his neck meets his shoulder. Castiel shifts restlessly against him and before the hunter knows what happened, he’s pinned flat to the mattress, his wrists gathered in one of Castiel’s hands and held over his head. The angel is straddling him, blue eyes fierce where he looks down at his partner in the dark. “Stop.”  
“Why?” Dean refuses to admit that he’s sulking.

“Because I know you,” Castiel chuckles, and the sounds vibrates through Dean, warming him from the inside out. “And you only come onto me half asleep like this when you’re upset,”

“That’s not true,” He frowns and Castiel simply watches him, a warm presence on his lap. Dean sighs, looking away after a moment, unable to take that stare a single second longer.

“Okay, yeah… Sam, just…. Said something on the phone today. I’m not upset, just… Thinking,”

“About?” Castiel demands and Dean shakes his head.

“Not important,”

“I will sleep on the couch,” Castiel threatens and Dean shakes his head, flexing his wrists uneasily in Castiel’s grip. 

“Not necessary,” Dean says, maybe a little too quickly. “Just… Jesus, Cas, are you really gonna make me say it out loud? It sounds girly,”

“Dean,” There’s force in the angel’s voice and Dean sighs, closing his eyes.

“Sam keeps… Insisting, that I’m bored, here, and… I’m… Not,” Dean sighs. The pressure on his wrists disappears and he squints open an eye to find Castiel still perched on his lap, arms crossed over his chest and one dark eyebrow raised.

“Why does he think you’re tired of this life?” 

“Because I’m not out on the road, drinking, and ‘chasing tail’ as he so elegantly put it,”

“Are you tired of this?” Castiel asks, and Dean hears the quiet whisper of Castiel’s self-doubt where it lies beneath the question.

“Of course not,” He sighs, taking careful hold of Castiel’s delicate hips. The angel is still as stone above him. “Cas… I… I don’t want to leave. I love the kids, and this crappy house, and the neighborhood, and… And you, obviously,”

“I love you, too,” Castiel doesn’t bat an eyelash. “And you should just tell Sam that we’re staying once the hunt is done.”

“You asking me to settle down with you?” Dean smirks, and Castiel’s tough exterior cracks a bit as he rolls his eyes, a smile playing at his lips as he stoops over Dean. His lips are feather-light against Dean’s pulse and the hunter cants his head back, offering himself.

“What if I was?” Castiel whispers.

“Well,” Dean swallows, “I guess we’d need to christen the house properly, wouldn’t we?”

“I suppose,” Castiel’s teeth scrape gently against the tendon in his neck, and shit Dean loves when he does that-- and then suddenly he’s gone, standing at the edge of the bed with a pillow tucked under his arm. Dean blinks at him, mouth open and questioning. “But until you tell your brother about us, and that we’re staying-- I’ll be on the couch,”

“ _Cas_!”

He doesn’t miss the angel’s laughter as he descends the stairs.


End file.
